Definitely, Maybe
by MessyEater
Summary: Santana Lopez, a Manhattan single mom tries to explain her past relationships with her daughter questioning her existence. Along the course of her not-so-fairy-tale-like story, she discovers that a second look at the past may lead to a second chance at the future. (Brittana, Quinntana, Pezberry)


"Miss Lopez, package for you."

I feel my heart beat double up the moment I see my ex-wife's name neatly inscripted on the brown envelope the mail guy had tossed on my desk. This isn't going to be a good thing I just know it. I mean the woman had bailed on me, on _us_, and I haven't heard from her for years and now out of nowhere I get to receive a fucking brown envelope and I'm expected to take it calmly?

Anyway, I didn't have time to dwell on how much I hate her guts so I take a deep breath and rip open the letter.

**Demand Letter of Visitation.**

Are you kidding me?

I scoff and toss the letter aside instantly feeling a headache coming. She can't be serious, can she? She made it very obvious that she didn't want my daughter the first time around and now she suddenly sees the light and demands to have visitation rights on _my child_?

No way in hell.

"Santana,"

I look up from my inner turmoil to see Mrs. Nguyen, one of the executives in my department hovering from my office door and giving me a proud smile.

"Just heard we got the Proactiv account. Way to go, you must be completely psyched."

I force myself to smile back and nervously gulp as soon as she turns away again.

Then again I never thought I'd spend my days, weeks, and years working in an advertising agency trying to figure out how to get teenagers be concerned enough for their acnes to use Proactiv.

I pop an ibuprofen and decide to leave office early. I had to get out.

…

Whenever I get the chance to get off from work early I made a point to go and pick up my daughter, Charlie from school.

Now it's a great feeling when you find the right track to go with the day. For a moment it makes you forget everything. And today I have found the absolute perfect song.

I plugged in my earphones and pressed play.

_Bitches, they can kiss my…_

Err, I mean the other perfect song.

I press play again and can't help but smirk to myself as soon as the instrumental of Katrina and the Waves' _'Walking on Sunshine'_ starts.

One of the things I love about New York is being able to walk around the city and getting to encounter lots of different people from different walks of life. Men and Women, be it professional or not, college kids, teenagers promoting some organization for a good cause, children with their parents buying groceries from the local store, dudes in guitars, guy asking for donation so he can fix his space ship and get home from whatever planet he's from, dogs sniffing each other's butts, you name it New York's got it.

But sometimes no matter how carefully you plan your playlist there is no right track to what awaits you.

Now chaos is an understatement for what I am greeted with the moment I step inside P.S. 32 elementary.

"Come on, come on!"

I frown in curiosity, trying to make my way through the crowd of angry parents and screaming kids.

"Hey, what's going on?" I try asking one of the mothers I know.

"Santana, did you know there was gonna be a Sex Ed class today?"

I grimace at her, not fully registering the words 'Sex' and 'Class' together. "Aren't they too young for that?"

"Yeah, it was a total disaster!"

"At least it got them reading." One father interrupts us.

That makes me look around and see a boy reading a book out loud for the other kids to hear.

"There's a book," I state, suddenly horrified at the idea.

"…the 250 million sperms are ejaculated and begin their treacherous journey towards the fallopian tubes…"

I instantly panic at the thought of my daughter reading a book like that. "I'm gonna find Charlie."

Turns out I didn't have to look any further because next thing I know Charlie is staring at me so seriously I think it might give me a heart attack.

"We need to talk."

…

"…Which is when the man removes his penis from his pajamas and thrust it into a woman's vagina…?"

I internally wince at her choice of words but try to act as casual as possible as we make our way home to our apartment building.

"Okay, but Mrs. Gallagher didn't actually say 'thrust'?" I clarify, feeling the head ache coming back.

"Yeah,"

"Oh,"

Trust that old lady to teach eight year old kids sex education. I want to strangle her right then and there.

I mean it's not like I'm being a prude and all and I certainly understand about adults exposing sex to kids these days to promote awareness and prevent teenage pregnancy or whatever… but this is _my kid_ we're talking about and I never thought I'd say this, I'm Santana Lopez after all, but I'm planning on making Charlie promise to keep her virginity perfectly intact until she was twenty-five.

"But what I don't understand," she continues as if I haven't had enough of her talking casually about male and female sex organs together. "Andy Mason's sister said he was an accident. I mean how do you accidentally thrust a penis into… Hi, David."

I smile awkwardly at the doorman and take hold of Charlie's hand, whisking her away from the people in the building getting to hear our conversation.

"How do you accidentally…"

"Stop saying 'penis' and 'thrust'" I chastise, pressing the up button on the elevator and wishing it'd come faster. This head ache is seriously killing me. "Just say 'tinkle parts' or 'wee-wee', something cute."

She pouts, "Explain how Andy was an accident."

"That's complicated." I sigh.

She gives me a challenging stare then looks directly at the woman behind us.

"Penis… Penis!"

"Okay. Alright, that's enough."

I grab her again, covering her mouth and smiling nervously at the lady who by then is giving both of us a disapproving look.

I finally let go of Charlie and she looks at me expectantly.

I take hold of her shoulders and cautiously whisper, "Okay, they… It's not like his dad slipped on a banana peel. The accident was that Andy's mom got pregnant."

She frowns at that, obviously thinking it over. "If they didn't want a baby, then how come they had sex?"

That question throws me speechless. Who knew third graders can come up with questions like that? I really need to have a talk with Mrs. Gallagher about this.

"That's… a very good question," I shift from where I am standing, buying time and desperately thinking of an answer that will make the subject simpler for her. "I guess you could say that they were rehearsing."

Charlie thinks for a moment and I am almost relieved that she was done with all her question but then her face sombers and she gives me a hesitant look.

"Was I an accident?" she inquires doubtfully.

"No!" I immediately answer with conviction.

She looks unconvinced, "I was, wasn't I?"

"No," I reassure once more, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "You were completely and totally on purpose. I knew exactly what I was getting into."

She smiles a little at that and I gesture for her to enter the elevator.

…

"I think you should tell me the story of you and my other mom,"

I promptly stop chopping the onions and stare at my daughter the moment I hear the words "my other mom" come out of her mouth.

Of course she knows about her 'other mom'. It's one of the few things I didn't neglect to tell her the moment she started asking about our family tree. I didn't, however tell her more than she was supposed to know about the woman. She left us and that's all there is to know about her.

I breathe in exasperation, remembering the letter.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I answer nonchalantly, resuming with my chopping.

"Why not?"

"Because it's just isn't."

"Is it because you were both girls?" she questions further.

I look up at her and sigh, "Charlie…"

"Look, I know okay? You and my other mom, you don't like to talk about it but I just want to know and I want you to tell me the real story."

"You know I'm going to tell you the real true story of how me and your 'other mom' met."

She rolls her eyes at that, "When I'm old enough."

"Yep."

"Come on just tell me," she whines. "I know love isn't a fairy tale."

I smirk at her. "Really?"

"Really." She puts down her mushroom and knife and stands directly in front of me on the kitchen counter, "Did you have another girlfriend before you met her?"

The silliness of the question makes me chuckle darkly.

"Come on tell me the truth."

I contemplate for a moment before finally giving up. She might as well know this little piece of information.

"I've had three girlfriends." I admit, not taking my eyes off the onions. "And then some other… smattering of other women that I dated."

When I look up Charlie is giving me a judging stare.

"What?" I ask, suddenly feeling conscious.

"Slut!" She fakes cough.

"Charlie!"

…

"You're not going to let this drop, are you?"

Charlie shakes her head stubbornly, "Not until you tell me about how you and my other mom met."

I scoff, "Can you please stop calling her 'my other mom'? It kind of bothers me in a weird way."

She shrugs, settling primly on her bed. "So are you gonna tell me the story? About your three girlfriends? About how you fell in love with mom?"

"No. Game over. It's time for bed." I start arranging her pillows and blanket, going for the door to switch off the light.

"No, it's not time for bed. It's time for you to tell me the story!" she protests.

"Charlie!" I groan, switching on the lights again.

"I need to know!"

We engage in a staring match for a few seconds her eyes notwithstanding and for a moment she reminds me of _her_ and there is a sudden lump in my throat. Charlie's stubbornness must be something she also got from that woman.

"Fine!" I concede, making her smile widely in triumph. "I'm gonna tell you the story but I'm not gonna tell you who your mom is, you're just gonna have to figure it out for yourself then we'll see how smart you are."

"I like it, it's like a love story mystery." She answers eagerly.

"Great. You ready?"

"No," she goes to pick up her teddy bear and snuggles comfortably on her pillows before facing me once again. "Now I'm ready."

I sit indian-style on her bed and try to recall that exact moment that started it all.

…


End file.
